<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>This Wretched Thing by kjack89</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915991">This Wretched Thing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89'>kjack89</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, booty shorts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:28:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“No.”</p><p>Enjolras didn’t even look up from his phone, which meant he missed the way Courfeyrac’s eyes narrowed in what he would have recognized as determination. But not even Enjolras could’ve missed how Courfeyrac’s tone turned wheedling. “You haven’t even heard me out—”</p><p>Enjolras snorted. “I don’t have to,” he said. “I heard the words ‘nude calendar’ and know that whatever you’re suggesting, I’m not going along with it.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>213</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This Wretched Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/impetusofadream/gifts">impetusofadream</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For <a href="https://impetusofadream.tumblr.com">impetusofadream</a>, for the <a href="https://bishopmyrielfundraiser.tumblr.com">bishopmyrielfundraiser</a>. The request was for E/R, silly fluff featuring <a href="https://tourist-town-gothic.tumblr.com/post/616889489063854080">these booty shorts</a> (which may or may not reference something called the Magnus Archives, which I have never heard of so I will take Google’s word for it).</p><p>Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No.”<b><br/>
</b></p><p>Enjolras didn’t even look up from his phone, which meant he missed the way Courfeyrac’s eyes narrowed in what he would have recognized as determination. But not even Enjolras could’ve missed how Courfeyrac’s tone turned wheedling. “You haven’t even heard me out—”</p><p>Enjolras snorted. “I don’t have to,” he said. “I heard the words ‘nude calendar’ and know that whatever you’re suggesting, I’m not going along with it.”</p><p>Courfeyrac’s eyes widened in what he clearly thought was an innocent way. “No one said anything about nude—”</p><p>“Did you not just say, ‘Hey, Enj, we want to put together a nude calendar for charity’?” Enjolras asked, an impatient bite to his voice.</p><p>Courfeyrac pouted. “Ok, fine,” he relented, “but no one said you had to be nude.”</p><p>Despite himself, Enjolras finally looked up from his phone. “Then what exactly did you have in mind?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.</p><p>A small smirk played at the corners of Courfyerac’s mouth. “That depends,” he hedged.</p><p>“On what?” Enjolras asked warily.</p><p>Courfeyrac’s smirk widened. “How do you feel about booty shorts?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“I am going to kill Courfeyrac.”</p><p>The threat might have sounded more believable if there hadn’t been a tinge of utter desperation in Enjolras’s voice as he tried in vain to tug the hem of the booty shorts down just a little bit further, feeling very naked wearing booty shorts and absolutely nothing else.</p><p>Combeferre looked far too amused for Enjolras’s liking, and had the audacity to grin when Enjolras glared at him. “Ordinarily you’d be well within your rights,” Combeferre said calmly, “but in this case, you consented to this.”</p><p>“That was before I saw what these looked like on—” Enjolras stopped so suddenly that Combeferre ran straight into him. “You didn't tell me Grantaire was the photographer.”</p><p>“Didn't I?”</p><p>“No,” Enjolras said through clenched teeth.</p><p>The look Combeferre gave him was a little too understanding for Enjolras’s liking. “Is that a problem?”</p><p>Enjolras scowled. “Why would it be?”</p><p>Combeferre shrugged, still looking amused. “You tell me.”</p><p>Enjolras’s scowl deepened and he glanced over at Grantaire, who was adjusting the lights at the edge of the dropcloth that designated the makeshift studio. “Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, resisting the urge to cover himself as he walked over to Grantaire. “Where do you want me?” he asked stiffly.</p><p>Grantaire glanced up at him and promptly dropped the filter he was holding on his foot. “Fuck,” he swore, bending down quickly to pick it up again. “Uh, you can just, uh, make yourself at home.”</p><p>“Fat chance of that,” Enjolras grumbled, even as he crossed over to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.</p><p>Combeferre cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to—”</p><p>He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and Enjolras’s eyes widened. “Don’t leave me here,” he hissed, but it was too late. Combeferre gave him a cheerful wave before disappearing and leaving Enjolras alone with Grantaire.</p><p>Alone, with Grantaire, and wearing booty shorts.</p><p>Speaking of Grantaire, the man was busying himself with his camera, and Enjolras stood uncomfortably for a moment before asking, “So, um, are we going to do this?”</p><p>“Of course,” Grantaire said, suddenly sounding professional as he lifted his camera. “Just go ahead and get in position—” Enjolras froze, suddenly entirely unsure of what to do with his body, and Grantaire peeked over the top of his camera, looking bemused. “When I said position, I didn’t exactly mean staring at the camera like a deer caught in headlights.”</p><p>Enjolras scowled. “Then what did you have in mind?” he snapped, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest.</p><p>Grantaire considered him for a moment. “Well, that’s not a bad start,” he said, snapping a few pictures. “Now loosen up a little, change your position…” Enjolras shifted his position awkwardly and Grantaire sighed, exasperated. “No, not like that—”</p><p>“Well excuse me,” Enjolras said frostily, planting his hands on his hips, “but I don’t think you know how difficult this is!”</p><p>“And I’ll have you know that you’re looking at Mr. September right here,” Grantaire shot back. “I did my posing, so yeah, I know exactly how difficult – or not difficult – it is.” He lowered his camera and smirked at Enjolras. “And I didn’t have the advantage of wearing the world’s tiniest booty shorts.”</p><p>Enjolras blinked. “Why what were you wearing?”</p><p>Grantaire’s smirk widened. “What God gave me, and nothing more.”</p><p>Enjolras flushed and looked away, trying not to think of Grantaire naked. “I didn’t realize you were doing the calendar too.”</p><p>Grantaire shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “Well, I may have exaggerated slightly – I was only half of Mr. September. Bahorel and I did a whole fake college football theme for our picture, very homoerotic, you know.”</p><p>Enjolras laughed, though he flinched when Grantaire immediately took his picture. “Alright, so any advice for me, then?”</p><p>Grantaire looked at him critically. “I think the problem is that you’re thinking about the camera too much,” he said decisively. “Which, luckily, has a potentially easy solution – why don’t we try shooting you from the back?”</p><p>“Oh, well, um—”</p><p>Enjolras turned, and Grantaire let out a noise like he had just choked on a laugh. “I’m sorry but what in the world is written on your ass?”</p><p>“The booty shorts are from Jehan,” Enjolras said with a sigh, glancing over his shoulder. “Apparently it’s a quote from something– I don’t know, Jehan said the color would like nice on me.”</p><p>The last of his words came out as a mumble, and Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Turn your gaze upon this wretched thing,” he read out loud. “Well, your wish is my command, I guess.”</p><p>“You could photoshop it out,” Enjolras offered half-heartedly as he heard the camera shutter go off repeatedly.</p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Grantaire asked, somewhat vaguely. “I think it’s great. Should make for an excellent Mr. June.”</p><p>Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Why June?” he asked, peaking over his shoulder at Grantaire.</p><p>Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Midsummer, longest day of the year, sun god – it makes sense in my head.”</p><p>“Well as long as it makes sense to someone,” Enjolras muttered. He hesitated. “So, uh, how exactly should I stand?”</p><p>“For starters, as hard as it’ll be for you, try to relax,” Grantaire said. “And stretch your arms up over your head.”</p><p>“Like this?” Enjolras asked, feeling foolish as he raised his arms somewhat weakly into the air.</p><p>“No, like—” Grantaire broke off. “Remember when Jehan made us all learn yoga and taught us a sun salutation?”</p><p>Enjolras looked over his shoulder again. “Do you honestly think I paid any attention to that?”</p><p>Grantaire barked a laugh. “You probably should’ve,” he said, setting his camera down and walking over to Enjolras. “It would’ve been relaxing for you, and God knows you need it.” He hesitated before closing a hand around Enjolras’s wrist. “Here, do this.”</p><p>He lifted both of Enjolras’s arms above his head, straightening them and pressing Enjolras’s palms together. His hands lingered around Enjolras’s wrists for a moment before he stepped away. “There,” he said gruffly, heading back to his camera. “Now look up toward the ceiling.”</p><p>Enjolras obediently looked up, hoping that Grantaire would get some kind of usable shot soon as the camera shutter clicked rapid-fire behind him. “Got it,” Grantaire said after what felt like no time at all, and Enjolras blinked.</p><p>“Already?”</p><p>“What can I say, you make a good subject.”</p><p>Grantaire set his camera down and went over to his computer, and Enjolras hesitated for a moment before joining him. “See what I mean?” Grantaire asked, pointing at the images that had loaded on the screen of his computer.</p><p>Enjolras blinked. Somehow, the pose Grantaire had put him in made every muscle on his back stand out in sharp relief, but the light softened the image slightly, casting Enjolras in a golden glow. “Wow,” Enjolras murmured. “I look..”</p><p>“Like a god.”</p><p>Enjolras looked sharply at Grantaire, who looked almost surprised that he had said it, and then looked away again. “I was going to say powerful, but…”</p><p>“But godly is more apt,” Grantaire supplied, with just enough of a teasing lilt in his voice that, if he wanted, Enjolras could shrug it off.</p><p>Enjolras decided to try to take him up on the opportunity. “You're the only one who'd think that,” he said dismissively, and Grantaire smiled slightly.</p><p>“Well, I'm the only one until the general public gets ahold of this calendar.”</p><p>Enjolras made a face. “Don't remind me,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Can’t believe my mother will probably see this.”</p><p>“I thought you hated your mother,” Grantaire said lightly.</p><p>“I do, but if she dies of a heart attack now, it’ll be before I’ve had a chance to wheedle my way back into the will. All my inheritance, gone before I’ve had a chance to spend it in a way that justifies her disowning me in the first place.” Grantaire laughed at that, but despite the levity in Enjolras’s tone, he couldn't quite bring himself to smile.</p><p>Instead, before he could stop himself, he blurted, “I never wanted to be a god.”</p><p>Grantaire blinked. “Pardon?”</p><p>Enjolras flushed, but knew it was too late now to take back what he hadn’t meant to say. “I know that you– you joke, you call me Apollo, but...I'm human. That's all I ever wanted to be.”</p><p>Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “I know that.”</p><p>Enjolras met his eyes evenly. “Do you?”</p><p>He hadn’t meant the question, or the conversation, to sound as serious as it was turning, but for once, Grantaire didn’t seek to lighten the mood. “Yeah, I do,” he said instead, sounding tired, as he moved to pack his camera away. “I really do.”</p><p>“Then why…”</p><p>Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure how he intended to end that question. Why the jokes, perhaps, or why call him Apollo in the first place, but despite not asking an actual question, Grantaire seemed to understand. “Because gods can't die.”</p><p>He said it simply, plainly, yet Enjolras recoiled as if he’d yelled it across the room, and it took him a moment to respond. “Do you...I mean, are you, uh, worried about that?” he asked cautiously.</p><p>Grantaire snorted. “Have you met yourself?” he asked dryly. “Of course I am.”</p><p>“So you want to immortalize me.”</p><p>Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression. “No, I want to keep you safe.” He shrugged, not quite meeting Enjolras’s eyes. “But barring my ability to do that, the best I can do is make sure that what you stand for won't die, even if your death wish ends up coming true one of these days.”</p><p>Something tightened in Enjolras’s chest, and he forced himself to look away. “Sure,” he said, his voice rough, before forcing a smile, his tone turning teasing, “immortalizing me through the words emblazoned on my ass.”</p><p>A small smile played on Grantaire's lips. “Well, whatever it takes.”</p><p>The tense moment between them dissipated as rapidly as it had appeared, and Enjolras managed a laugh. “Well, I guess I should go change.”</p><p>As much as he had hated wearing the damn booty shorts, somehow Enjolras was suddenly reluctant to change out of them, and Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “If you insist,” he said. “But as they say...hate to see you leave, love to watch you go.”</p><p>There was no mistaking the leer in Grantaire’s voice, but Enjolras knew him enough to ignore it, seeing it for the deflection it was.</p><p>Instead, he took a deep, steadying breath before asking, “What if I didn’t?”</p><p>Grantaire’s eyebrow arched even higher. “Change? That’s your choice, I guess, though wearing those out on the street is a fashion statement I’m not sure you’re ready to make.”</p><p>Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I meant go, dumbass.”</p><p>“Oh.” Grantaire looked taken aback. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’m just going to be editing today’s photos, nothing exciting.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Enjolras said casually. “Sounds like a good time to me.”</p><p>Grantaire looked at him, partially confused, partially defensive, as if he thought Enjolras might be making fun of him. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”</p><p>The short answer was unquestionably yes, but Enjolras swallowed the automatic response. “Not at the moment,” he said instead, which wasn’t entirely a lie.</p><p>Grantaire didn’t look convinced. “And how exactly is this going to help the Cause?” he asked, still wary.</p><p>“It’s not,” Enjolras said honestly.</p><p>“Then why—”</p><p>Enjolras shrugged. “Because I want to. Because…” He trailed off, and figured if he was going to be honest, now was the time. “Because I enjoy spending time with you.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you.”</p><p>Even though Enjolras hadn’t exactly expected instant belief, he still scowled at the cynicism Grantaire clung to, even now. “Ok,” he said, putting his hands on his hips in a way that would have seemed stern were he not wearing scarlet booty shorts, “so then how does you staying after every Les Amis meeting at the Musain with me until all hours of the night help the cause?”</p><p>Grantaire rolled his eyes. It doesn’t,” he said shortly. “But nor does anything else I do, so I don’t exactly see your point—”</p><p>But Enjolras was not so easily swayed. “Then why do you do it?”</p><p>“Because—”</p><p>Grantaire broke off, and Enjolras smiled triumphantly. “Because you want to?” he suggested.</p><p>For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might deny it, or kick Enjolras out of the building, but after a long moment, he sighed heavily. “Fine,” he relented. “But you better not distract me while I’m working.”</p><p>Enjolras laughed as he drew up a chair. “Fine,” he said, matching Grantaire’s tone, “but I’m going to remember this the next time you’re distracting me when I’m working.”</p><p>“Of course you are,” Grantaire muttered, but the look he gave Enjolras was furtive, and he was smiling again. “Though if you don’t want to distract me, you definitely should get changed.”</p><p>Enjolras rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Fine,” he said again, standing and stretching before turning to head back to where he had left his clothes.</p><p>“Oh, and Enjolras?” Grantaire called after him, and Enjolras paused, glancing over his shoulder.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Grantaire smirked at him. “I’d turn my gaze upon that wretched thing any time.”</p><p>“Funny,” Enjolras said mildly, “I thought you already did.”</p><p>Grantaire choked on air and Enjolras’s grinned broadly as he went to finally change out of the booty shorts, half-wondering if Jehan might let him keep them.</p><p>For the Cause. Or something like that, anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>